New Year, New Problems
by MKStanley
Summary: It's New Years Eve and Kat is drunk again. What happens when she gets the wrong idea about what Art did? Again, older, but I like this one better than the first one. Second part of my Sequential Art series.


Disclaimer: I don't own Phillip Jackson, Sequential Art, Collected Curios, Kat, Art, Pip, or Hilary.

This is, chronologically speaking, the second part of my Sequential Art series, you really should read the others too.

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**New Year, New Problems**

Well, it happened again. No matter how hard I tried to prevent it, it was the same story every year. Kat and I would share a wonderful, vaguely romantic Christmas, and just under a week later, on New Year's Eve, she would end up completely shit-faced wasted. Throwing up all over the toilet, leaving me to clean up the mess. But I did it willingly, because I cared.

This year was only slightly different, with Kat actually trying to hold back. Of course Pip, that satanic little penguin, kept adding straight vodka to everything she drank, which made it impossible to keep her even remotely sober, but I didn't particularly mind. She was very... friendly, when she was drunk. So once again, as Scarlet, Pip, and I celebrated the new year, Kat came to each of us hugging and saying how much she loved us. Of course, I was a bit surprised when she stopped at me, but luckily, Pip was busy getting drunk and Scarlet was amusing herself with a bit of tinsel left over from Christmas.

As Scarlet played and Pip drank, Kat came up to me, much more docile than she usually was when drunk, and hugged me. I expected her to break off and go find something else to drink like usual, but she didn't move, she only looked at me and smiled. After a while though, she frowned and pulled away, muttering something about the toilet, and staggered off towards the bathroom.

I smiled at her swaying, retreating figure, then followed her when the inevitable retching began. I sat with her for a while, then she thanked me and tried to head up to her room. I knew she wouldn't make it, so when she stood up, I gently picked her up and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom. As I placed her in bed, tucking her in and carefully pulling the covers up, I heard her murmur a very sincere thank you, before slipping into unconsciousness.

I smiled at her finally peaceful sleeping form, then steeled myself and headed off to clean up the messes that everyone had made.

I couldn't remember where I was, when I was, or what I had done. There was just a pounding headache. Then, I remembered everything, and I was not happy. Once again, I had managed to make myself look like a complete idiot in front of Pip and Scarlet and, worst of all, Art! I didn't even want to know what he thought of me right now. Of course, I didn't hear the footsteps on the stairs through the pounding on my head, so I was startled and jumped a bit when there was a light knock on my door. The door cracked open and Art stuck his head in and smiled at me sadly, quietly asking

"Good morning. How are you feeling?"

I shook my head, something I instantly regretted when the room begun to spin,

"Pretty bad, plus I probably made a total ass of myself last night, as per usual."

He smiled gently at me, "You were fine. It was actually kind of cute. Except for the throwing up part. I'm sorry about that, can I get you anything?"

I was speechless. He complimented me on acting like an idiot, apologized for something I did, and was offering to get me something to make me feel better. Not to mention the fact that he probably cleaned up the bathroom, again. Art is the best guy I know, by far. I didn't want to burden him any more than I already had, but I was thirsty, and I needed to wake up.

"Anything with caffeine, I guess."

His grin grew a bit brighter at this, and he headed off to the kitchen. My head was really feeling it now, throbbing painfully, and I regretted not asking him for some tylenol or something. Of course, it seemed that he knew me better than I did, because he returned with some delicious-smelling tea and a small white pill.

"I know you don't usually drink tea, but this is a trick I picked up from a roommate of mine back in college, it does wonders for hangovers. And of course, your tylenol."

I could only smile at him gratefully. I sipped the hot tea and I could practically feel it working it's magic. As I downed the tylenol, I began to feel quite tired. Art looked at me, then after I took another sip of the tea, he gently removed it from my hand.

I spoke, my speech even more sluggish last night,

"What'cha put in that thing?"

He shushed me, saying

"It's part of the recipe, it's supposed to knock you out."

I tried to be alarmed, to sit up at this, "Whaaat..."

He gently but firmly pushed me back down onto the bed, "Trust me, you'll feel much better when you wake up."

I surrendered, my words coming out slower and less clear, "Ohhhh, ookayy... I trust ya Arty... Thanks..."

"I'm sorry. Go to sleep now, Kat."

I obeyed, falling into a dreamless sleep almost instantly, aware only of his presence.

When I woke, I noticed that it was much darker in my bedroom, and that my bed seemed abnormally warm. I began to roll over but stopped when I felt a large, soft object. I was sharing a bed with someone, and I couldn't even remember what happened last night. As I opened my eyes, I saw the other figure, fully clothed and outside the blankets for some reason, and then nearly screamed as I remembered what happened. I was sharing a bed with Art, and he had drugged me. I kicked him out of the bed, literally, and he woke with a start. I automatically went into rant mode, yelling and screaming at him loud and long enough to wake the dead.

"-how could you do that!? You drug me and then sleep with me?! Of all the insulting things you could do, you take advantage of me, when I'm drunk no less! I thought you were different! Was that even tylenol?! Argh! I can't believe I trusted a scumbag like you!"

But through all this, he didn't look smug, didn't look satisfied, didn't look angry, or amused, or even indifferent. In fact, he looked more... sad, than anything, and as I took a breath, he interrupted me before I could resume my rant.

"Kathleen... Do you... do you really think I would do something like that? To you? I thought..."

He trailed off, looking down at the floor now, and all the anger rushed out me like it had never been there. Did I really think Art had done that? I wasn't even sure he was capable of that kind of evil. He stood up, looked at me such sadness in his eyes I thought my very soul would split in two, and with a muttered apology, slowly left my room, looking very, very small.

I was too shocked, both at my treatment of him and of the broken look in his eyes as I ranted, to stop him as he walked out. He tried to help me, and what did I do? I yelled at him, accusing and insulting him. My anger had spawned some pretty demeaning things, and I was certain I had screwed everything up yet again. I couldn't face him now, that was for sure. So I did the only thing I could think of; I curled up in a fetal ball and cried until I had no more tears left in me. Sleep did not come to me that night.

'That's it. It's over. She hates me.'

That was the only thing that went through my head for the better part of an hour. I had tried to help her, to show her that I cared, but of course, I had only screwed things up again. I'm not exactly certain what she thinks I did, but I have a pretty good idea, and it disgusts me. Not just that she thinks me capable of taking advantage of such a helpless, beautiful, wonderful person, but also that every time I think of her and I- Argh, damn it, stop thinking like that.

She was my friend, she trusts - trusted, past tense I painfully reminded myself - me far too much for me to do anything of the sort. When you live with someone for a couple of years, it's impossible not to get to know them. And with Kat, who had such a beautiful, friendly, relatively cheerful personality, it's doubly true. Of course, spending the majority of your free time with someone for two years also forces you to notice their more physical characteristics. Especially if they're incredibly good-looking female attributes.

'But of course,' the thought shot through my head like a painful mental bullet, 'She hates me. Probably hates everything about me.'

I didn't know what I was going to do. Looking back through my life over the past two years, she was there for every important event. She made me laugh, cry, rage, smile, and succeed. Sometimes all at the same time. Living without a purpose, without her, could not be done. Which meant I either had to find a new purpose in life, something that could take until the end of time, or regain her trust. Something that could take even longer.

What to do, what to do...

I woke feeling exhausted, miserable, and depressed. No blissful ignorance for me, my memories followed me, like a thick, suffocating fog, constantly sapping my will and strength. I couldn't go on like this. I needed to fix things between me and Art, but he couldn't possibly want to have anything to do with me. So I reluctantly crawled out of my bed, walked to the kitchen, and prepared myself some coffee.

I didn't know where Art was, and his absence, normally an unimportant thing, cut deeply. For a brief moment, I was angry again. I was depressed, and he wasn't helping me. Wasn't cheering me up with his bad jokes and smiling personality. But then I remembered the root cause of everything, and my anger turned mostly to bitterness, with the rest directing itself at me.

I sighed, wishing I knew what to do, when I heard a cheery "Good morning." I spun, hoping against hope that it would be Art, saying he knew what I knew, and that everything was alright, that I was forgiven. Then everything collapsed around me as I saw Pip, up extra early for some reason, his ridiculously large glasses reflecting the sun into my face. I grunted, either unable or unwilling to respond.

Pip may not seem very smart most of the time, but he can be quite perceptive and wise on rare occasions. So it was not particularly surprising when he asked me what was wrong.

"I don't want to talk about it."

He nodded knowingly. "Got into a fight with Art, huh?"

I was angry now, so I spit out "I said I don't want to talk about it!"

He simply sat there. "So I guess, based on your reaction, that it was your fault, and you did a bit of yelling, and now you think he hates you."

It wasn't really a question, but I answered anyways, deflating as the truth stuck home.

"... yeah. Pip, what do I do?"

He tapped whatever passes for a chin, "Was he angry at you?"

I shook my head, "No, just... sad. Very sad."

He smiled and said "Well then I don't see what the problem is. He's obviously remorseful for causing any kind of division between you two, and probably wants to fix it as much, if not more, as you do. Wake up early tomorrow morning, make some breakfast, bring it to him, and apologize. I guarantee he'll accept it, probably do a bit of apologizing and crying too, and you two will be happier than ever."

I just stared at him. "That's all it takes?"

He shrugged, "For most people? No. But you two are different."

I smiled gratefully at him, my hope restored by a simple piece of advice, "Thanks Pip. Ya know, you're pretty smart."

He smirked indulgently, "Yeah, I know."

Then promptly got bacon grease on his glasses when he tried to feed himself and missed. I actually laughed at this, surprising myself, "You know what, I take it all back."

Of course, knowing my luck, Art walked in right at that moment.

"Glad you two are having fun."

He growled. He actually growled. At me. I felt horrible again, I treated him so badly, and now I was laughing and smiling, enjoying myself. My earlier hope evaporated against his anger.

"Art-"

He held up a hand to silence me, "I don't want to hear it. Whatever you guys do is your own business."

I nearly broke down and cried, but resolved not to do that in front of him. Even though he probably hated me, I didn't want him to think I was weak. Pip sighed sadly, but said nothing. Work didn't resume for another couple of days, so I spent the majority of the day either crying in my room or staring out the window, wishing I could travel through time and fix my mistakes.

I woke up alone and miserable. I headed downstairs, wishing that I could fix things between me and Kat, and what was the first thing I heard? Laughter. Kat's laughter. I know it wasn't any of my business, at least, not anymore, but could they wait a couple of days before being... cheerful? I growled at Kat. Angrily, not playfully. I'd never done that before, and I don't intend to do it again. It just hurts.

But I won't cry. Even though she probably hates me, I don't want her to think that I'm weak. So I went back up to my room, and I played my videogames and tried to drown my pain and sorrow in killstreaks and beer. By the end of the day, I couldn't even see straight, much less shoot straight, so I gave up and went to sleep. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't wake up the next morning.

Of course, that didn't happen, and I was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by the smell of cinnamon toast and fresh oranges when I woke. I looked up and there, to both my disappointment and happiness, was Kat. I acknowledged her with a half-hearted

"Good morning..."

But she simply smiled sadly and poured me some orange juice. Did she really hate me that much? That she won't even say a simple good morning? I ate my food, and it was probably delicious, but I couldn't really tell, because next to her, everything seemed washed out and dull. She spoke, and my heart filled with dread at her words

"Art, we need to talk."

I didn't know what she wanted. The only thing I could think of was that she wanted to go someplace safer, but I don't think I could stand that. I could feel my eyes watering up but at this point that's the least of my worries. In my mind I'm begging her to stay, but all I can force out is a weak "Kat, wait, please… don't leave me, I'm sorry…"

And it really is pathetic, but I do need her. And I need her to understand that.

Seeing Art like that, it hurt. Knowing that I was the cause of it hurt even more. But there was a bit of happiness in the pain. I knew I could fix it, because he wanted me to stay. After I yelled at him and ruined the start of this new year and just made him miserable, he still wanted me around.

"Art, I'm… I'm sorry. I'm sorry I screwed up the beginning of a new year, and I'm sorry that I yelled at you and accused you of doing something I don't think you're morally capable of doing."

And he looked up at me, hope in his eyes, giving me the strength to continue,

"And we started the year off horribly, so let me fix this. Let me make it up to you."

He tried to subtly wipe a tear away with his shirt, but I know him too well for that, and then smiled and told me "You just did…" It's not quite a precise statement of forgiveness, but I think it might be better. Of course, it's not enough. I know he's okay now, but I don't want him to be okay, I want him to be happy, to be excited at the new year. So, before my courage leaves me, I lean down and kiss him right on the lips. He seems shocked, but leans into it. It's not the first time we've kissed, but it's the first time we were both completely sober. We separate slowly, and he smiles up at me. I shyly return the smile, then leave the room, terrified of what he might say.

I sit there, absentmindedly rubbing my lips, wondering what just happened, and what it meant for 'us'. But I'm not going to push it. We've had enough drama for one month. And valentine's day is right around the corner...

A/N: This ended up being a lot longer than I intended, probably because I can't end on a depressing note, and the story writes itself more than I write it. I'm just the conduit between my imagination and the Internet.

Whew, thank god for the backspace key. The entire last section was a worthless piece of shit. Really. It was super generic and pathetic and honestly made me ashamed to be a writer. But it's alright, I deleted it and fixed it, mostly. So here ya go.


End file.
